


The Creature Under the Pier

by orphan_account



Series: qichi's tentacle porn [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Other, Tentacles, consensual tentacle sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:30:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I write tentacle porn a lot, it would appear. Here is some more of it. Shiny and consensual, too!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Creature Under the Pier

America feels fucking barren. It’s been… God, that shows it, doesn’t it? He can’t even remember the last time he’s gotten any from anyone. Yeah, he had a hand, but that was boring, kinda tedious, he felt like he was gonna get a cramp or fall asleep now. He needed to be _with_ somebody else…

So — so you can’t blame him, can you, when he’s walking along the beach, letting the waves crash over his ankles as they strike shore, and he sees a strange mass under the pier, and he wanders over. He recognizes the shape; he’s seen them on the news. This one shouldn’t be out here. It’s a big silky brown thing, its skin sleek and patterned like an octopus’s. It seems to have been jostled from its ocean nest. It’s beached, basically, poor thing.

But they can live a while on stored food energy and this one has even more time thanks to not being exposed to direct sunlight, so he… he walks over to it. You can’t blame him, right?

“H-Hey,” he tries, approaching it with footsteps that are slow but sure. He doesn’t want to frighten it cuz he doesn’t feel like being dinner today. He stands close. Well, close enough for it to catch his scent, without being so close that it’ll feel threatened; two and a half feet away, give or take, and he swallows hard. “Hey…” It moves, then, slowly. Its tendrils are uncurling from a state of sleep; some of them reorient to point towards him, slowly drifting in the air towards him. They look almost like they’re defying gravity, the way they move on a straight line…

Alfred stays still, cuz you have to, that’s what all the documentaries say. Remain calm. Don’t panic. Or you get eaten, and that’s… not quite his plan, really. So he remains steady, lets the tentacles slip onto him. They’re smart, move under the hem of his t-shirt and then loop around and up in such a way that it starts hiking up; he gradually lifts his arms, and they remove the garment completely. Jesus… he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, but they curl in and tug the jeans down. They work like that, careful, until he’s got nothing left to take off — except his glasses, and they don’t seem to want them.

Far faster than Alfred expects (he’d jump, but he’s keeping absolutely certain that he doesn’t make any fast movements) there’s a practical wall of tentacles shooting out on either side of him. His eyes go wide as his feet lift off the floor — what?! And then he realizes he’s being carried, carefully, over top of the main body of the creature. He feels surprisingly lightweight in its grip. He knows it won’t let him go.

Tentacles start rubbing against each other, the friction causing its strange sticky liquid to excrete from the little holes up and down each limb. Sticky, he knows, because this is one of the underwater types, typically; it’s made at a consistency to be able to hold onto things ( _food_ , usually) in the water. It’ll be a little rough for him, but… he’s used to it. God. It’ll be worth it, anyway, he decides as the tentacles switch their attention to him, quickly sliming their way around his thighs in a gentle loop before a single one prods against him. He hisses aloud. “Yes, yes, _please_ …”

It moves back and forth where it is at first, teasing him. Alfred feels his cheeks flush and his cock jolting with pleasure, twitching at empty air. He tries to shimmy himself down at it to make it get in, god, that’s all he wants. A moan escapes him. But — it’s still not going in, it’s just jabbing uncomfortably outside, and — that’s not what he _wants_. Alfred reaches down, between his spread legs, and wraps his fingers around the tentacle. It feels half-solid, half-soft, like a particularly leathery sponge. And he grips it firmly but not roughly, moving it up inside. “Fuck,” he manages, and that’s _all_ he manages for a moment, because once it’s in it starts moving. “Ah, ah, fuck yes…”

It starts a steady rhythm in and out. He doesn’t have much personal freedom of movement, but he does do his best to rock himself in time to its thrusting, letting his body meet it step for step. Every now and then he catches himself moving too fast for it, so he reaches down again and works it as his desired speed; it doesn’t seem to mind, and lets him maneuver it around. He finds, though, that once he lets go it moves _deeper_ , and that’s even better, getting it further than he’s ever felt any of his more, uh, humanoid partners…

A tentacle hovering aimlessly near his head doesn’t resist when he bucks himself just hard enough to manage to engulf it in his mouth. He sucks and licks all around it; it doesn’t do anything, isn’t a cock, but it fills his throat and moves in tandem with the tentacle inside. They build on each other, and it feels better and better and better and better until, finally, it can’t anymore and everything spills over. The tentacles both continue to pump inside of him as his body twitches through orgasm.

The creature lets him down onto the sand softly; he immediately goes for his pile of clothes, dressing himself. He’ll have to call someone to get the creature moved back into the ocean, so… yeah. He’s _satisfied_ , really. It’s an unfamiliar feeling. But a good one.

(What he doesn’t notice is — the creature itself lies in the dark under the pier, lowly purring, quite sated.)


End file.
